The Incredible Soft Spot
by Peruna
Summary: Sometimes, people don't want to be part of the action, but when it comes calling, one has to stand up and help if they can. When reborn into the MCU, this OC-Insert decided to avoid anything supernatural. The Hulk crashing through their barn puts a wrench in that plan.
1. The Incredible Soft Spot

AN: Moi moi, dear readers. Peruna here. So this is another really random, rather stupid and/or trivial One Shot. It's about an OC-Insert into the MCU that decided to just kick back and stay out of the action running into one of the Avengers. Yeah, I dunno, it's probably boring, but I wanted to write _something_ and this just kinda happened. Anyway, enjoy reading! Or don't. Like I said, this probably isn't super interesting...

 **I do not have any rights to the characters of the Hulk, Tony Stark or any other elements of the Marvel Cinematic Universe.**

It is an ordinary day, really, the sun is shining, coming in and out of cloud cover, with the somewhat chilly early spring air moved by occasional gusts. Life is treating me good, has been ever since I can remember and even though it might be unfair that someone as priviliged as I was reborn into an even more priviliged environment, it's not like I will complain about that at all. Not that I had a choice either way, not like I could have given my spot to some other recently deceased soul that deserved some happiness more than I. And, it might be treating this gift of a second life poorly, but I generally just coast by on my family's good fortune and a little cheating by using my flaky knowledge of the future to buy and sell stock market shares at opportune moments.

Like investing into Stark Industries when the price had dipped for a day due to yet another of Tony Stark's public blunders and then selling the shares when the interest was way up after that successful weapons demonstration for the Jericho missiles. Then waiting the three months for the man to resurface again and crash his company by announcing it wouldn't manufacture weapons anymore. That was a good day for me, all those people who tried to get rid of their shares like they were hot potatoes probably regretted that not shortly after, but I'm set with a neat little quarterly dividend payout that allows me to keep living on my parents' farm instead of seeking for a better paying job in the city.

But that is about as much involvement as I ever want to have with the avengers or any other supers or aliens or villains. I have absolutely no desire to live an exciting life. In my last one, I was most definitely the first to jump into extreme sports or do ridiculously dangerous dares with my friends and, I'm not going to lie, I know the appeal of a good adrenaline rush. But if you have spent your last months of life in agony, paralyzed from the shoulders down and slowly dying because you broke your neck in a stupid stunt gone wrong, then you learn to appreciate the more menial aspects of life. Which is why, even though I have been reincarnated into the MCU and there are amazing wonders of technology and sometimes even magic to behold, I stay here on the farm, spending my days looking after the cattle and horses and other animals. Breeding dogs is my pet project, if you will excuse the pun, and that's about the most exciting thing I ever do.

However, in a world so stock full of supernatural ... everythings, a world created by interconnected comic book series that had been expanded upon for nearly a century, there is precious little hance to never run across _anything_ out of the ordinary. For the three decades I've been living here, I had the luck to never be pulled into any convoluted plots or meeting any extra-terrestrial beings and my neighbourhood has never once been trashed by a mutant or enhanced or evil robot. Now, it seems, that my time has come, though, to meet one of the Avengers. At least, that's how I interpret the giant green monster that is currently tearing through our barn before continuing to run, thankfully, away from the house. I _really_ wouldn't want to have the Hulk destroy everything my family and I owns.

That said, it is heading right towards the rural town a few miles east of the farm and I kinda don't want the poor townspeople and the sheriff with his deputy to have to deal with the indestructible green menace alone. Especially because they will have no idea how to deal with it. Probably. The media coverage on Earth's Mightiest Heroes is pretty thorough, but there is no way that anybody would allow them to broadcast any of the Avengers' weaknesses. So even though many everyday citizens that have done even the tiniest amount of research will know that the Hulk becomes the Hulk when he's angry, few would come to the conclusion that calming him down is the only effective counter-measure against it. And then there is the question of how anybody could calm a giant green anger-management issue, even if they knew that they should.

I have a pretty good idea though, so I sigh inwardly and hurry to get my padded leathers on, grabbing a sturdy wooden box and packing what I need before heading out and strapping it to my dirt bike. It's rather awkward, but I manage and kick start the machine before tearing down the road in the direction of the town.

Of course the giant green muscle beast is faster than me, but at some point it had crossed the road, veering off the general path I had estimated for it to take. Uncertain, I stand on the road and look down the path of destruction that leads from the field on my left to the field on my right, the broken fence and the deep foot prints in the soil. Then I shake the doubt away and follow the trail off the road, my bike hopping along the uneven ground. Even if the Hulk isn't on direct path towards the town anymore, it could still cause some severe damage to people that I know and like and I should at least see where it's going to avoid having a guilty conscious later on.

It turns out to be a good decision though, when I tear into one of our neighbour's property. There is screaming coming from the house, the shed already collapsed and the neighbour and her brother making a stand with their rifle and shotgun respectively. And then there's the Hulk, roaring and charging towards them.

 _Holy bejeesus, this isn't good._

Adrenaline floods my body, my heart beat picking up as I head directly towards the confrontation between the gun-wielding humans and the bare-chasted green monster. It is a good feeling, well-known, even if it gives me the jitters since I'm not used to it anymore. I feel like a dry alcoholic taking shots of whiskey. Good and bad at once.

"HEEEY!", I yell as loud as I can, before braking harshly, throwing up dust and a wave of dirt and pebbles towards the charging Hulk. That gets its attention, though I really don't know whether or not that's a good thing. It momentarily stops its charge and settles its heavy, angry gaze on me. Immediately I start sweating unde rmy helmet, but nevertheless, I turn to my neighbours and wave at them. "Run! Don't shoot! Run!"

With no idea whether or not they would listen, I grab my box, cutting through the bungees and ropes I secured it with to save the precious seconds before the Hulk decides to beat me into a mushy pulp. I can't hear anything over the pounding of my heart, but when I look up next, I'm alone with the green monster that's flexing its more than impressive muscles. Then it roars at me and starts advancing.

"Woah, hey, woah, hey, woah!", I call nervously, throwing up a hand as if to stall the beats but it doesn't do much. Blindly I fumble the lid off the box with my other hand, unable to tear my gaze away from my imminent doom.

Soft whining and yipping comes from the now, thankfully, open box. The Hulk stops, looking confused and I use the opportunity to reach into the padded box and grab two fluffy puppies, holding them to my chest. There is a third one in the box.

Now the giant green monster looks rather befuddled, not all that angry anymore and all I can do is pray to the heavens that it will continue to not attack me as I slowly step away from the box and my toppled bike and towards it. Once I'm only about two metres away and, horribly, terrifyingly withing reach of the Hulk, I set the young dogs down. They are both around two months old, so they will be fine for a little while, given they wont get smushed, which I really hope they wont. With a heavy gulp, I back away slowly, picking my way back towards the box and clutching the last puppy to my chest to hopefully calm myself down as well as the big guy.

Why on earth would I bring baby canines to a rampaging destroyer beast, you ask? Even if it hadn't been shown in the MCU by the time I died in my first life, it was a known strategy of S.H.I.E.L.D. in the comics to calm down the Hulk with cute dogs. And even if I had never even touched an issue of any Hulk comic, it was a fun fact that I came across at some point and remembered for the sheer comedic value of a Hulk surrounded by puppies.

Now I get to see first hand, how the green monster squats down and curiously reaches towards one of the fluffy furballs. Both puppies, being curious and generally hard to scare away, stumble towards the giant nipping at its fingers playfully and wagging their butts in the air, the little tails whipping back and forth in a way that would melt even a rock's heart. And, miraculoiusly, it seems that they have the same adorable effect on the Hulk as they do to me because its face breaks into a wide grin and it starts shrinking, chuckeling and petting the baby animals all the while.

"Oh, thank the Lord!" I let out and sink to my knees in relief, finding it hard to breathe and ripping off my helmet to suck in sweet, delicious air, utterly overwhelmed by the prospect of surviving the encounter. I spend a few, precious moments simply thanking the heavens, only pulled back into reality when the puppy in my arm squirms around to lick my sweaty chin.

With a breathy chuckle I pet it behind the ears before looking over to see that Bruce Banner was himself again and currently being assaulted by my two other baby dogs. I get up on shaky knees and walk over to the tired and confused looking man in the pair of stretched and ripped pants.

"You need a phone?", I ask him and earn a surprised look from Banner before he replies with a grateful "Yes" and "Thanks" when I pass over my phone. Sitting down heavily next to him, I play with the puppies to distract myself and after Banner made his call, we sort of just wait together for his pick-up. A long while there is just silence. The neighbours seem to have run from the house and possibly to the small forest across the small field. Wherever they are, they don't show their faces, which is probably for the best, considering that I might have been unsuccessfull.

"So", Banner starts after a while, seeming a bit nervous, "Wh-Why are there puppies here?"

I wave one of my shaky hands in a throw-away gesture that probably doesn't look all that genuine. "They, uh, they- I brought them, 'cause I never seen the Hulk smash any dogs. And they calmed him right down."

"Okay", the man says though he eyes the puppies dubiously. Luckily further questions are staved off by the sound of a helicopter closing in on our location. Nervously, I pick up all the baby animals and put them back into their box, keeping back when the helicopter lands on the empty field behind the main house. I wave goodbye when Banner looks over, but make no move to follow him or anything. I have no aspirations at all to make S.H.I.E.L.D.'s or whoever's acquaintance.

Instead I gather all my stuff, putting on my helmet ant the lid on the box before driving home. The way home is much longer. I take it slow and keep to the well-kept roads as I have to hold the box with my three puppies steady between my legs. Maybe cutting my ropes and bungees hadn't been the best idea, but I was very stressed so it's nothing I can really regret. Once I'm back at the farm, I place the puppies back with their mother before taking a long bath and calling it a day. Tomorrow I'll have to do something about the barn, but for now my parents will have to deal with checking up on the fences and whatnot. I'm going to bed.


	2. The Incredible Pick-Up Line

AN: Moi everybody. Hope you're doing okay. A random one-shot, sequel-ish, on request of _TheCauldron_ , because it was kind of fun to write :)

 **I do not hold any rights to any elements of the Marvel Cinematic Universe.**

"Nope," I decide, making a U-turn right then and there.

"Nope, definitely not dealing with that," I repeat myself to the distracted audience of Lola and her puppy.

It's the blue-collared one, a happy little tyke, that I had agreed to deliver to its new owners. But ... Just no. The dogs may be fascinated by the enormous airships lifting their bulk over the city skyline not two blocks from here, but I am certainly not the kind to stay and rubber-neck at a disaster waiting to happen. Just no. Have a little sense people!

Already crowds are gathering along the sidewalk, gazing up in fascination. Some of them are even wearing bright, excited grins, the fools. Too used to all the super-people and the wonders of technology. More importantly, the already slow city traffic has come to all but a standstill, trapping me with no way forward or back. Damnit! With a grimace I turn to watch the spectacle along with the dozens of other civilians.

Water cascades down the sides of the rising behemoths, their sinister black-clad metal bulk blocking out the sun and casting what is probably several blocks into shadow. Yeah, no, I gotta get out of here.

Turning back front, I slam the heel of my hand onto my horn. Several people jump on the sidewalk but that's not my problem, is it? Thank the heavens, it seems to startle some other drivers out of their stupor and soon the street is honking their heart out until finally the line of cars moves again.

At the next intersection I take a right, grinding my teeth at the slow-moving traffic, but at least I'm moving furher away from these death machines. Adrenaline has me tense, muscles almost locking and my knuckles turning white on the steering wheel. Nothing good will come of this, that I know. In that notebook under my mattress at home, it clearly states the turn that this event will take. It's even circled and underlined in red, the obvious STAY AWAY not needing to be written down. Back when my memories were still fresh, I wrote everything down in the hopes that I could be prepared for this kind of thing, but somehow it has taken me by surprise nonetheless. But, really, who would think-

Suddenly, there is noise, the sounds of firing and resulting exlosions ripping across the sky and echoing into a terrible crescendo between the high-rises of the city blocks. Flinching so hard that my car almost veers into the oncoming traffic, I barely manage to keep my wits about me as small flaming bits of debree start descending from the battle above. It's not too much yet, but-

With a much too loud thunk, a piece of fly-away metal bounces off the roof of my car, leaving a depression right by my head. Yeah, no, I'm not staying here just to get killed by cast-off. It is, however, hard to get away with the streets all clogged up as they are. For a moment I fiercly wish I had my bike with me so that I could just up and leave, but then I turn to look at the frightened puppy on the passenger seat and shake it off.

On the sidewalks, people are scrambling for cover, screaming and yelling and all around panicking from the metal chunks hailing down on us. The drivers in front of me finally get their shit together, but the panic causes a crash at the intersection just as I'm about to pass it. Swearing violently, I swerve around the collision, barely dodging an oncoming vehicle myself.

The next minutes are a hectic chaos. Blood pounding in my ears, I try to keep the descending behemoths of airships in view as well as the panicking pedestrians and the other cars while doing my best to get the hell out of dodge. My car gains more than a few more dents and scrapes but finally I can get it under a bridge by some sort of harbour along the river.

Putting on the warn signal for the few other cars racing past, I carefully pry my fingers out of their white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. Then I let out a long sigh, forcing myself to relax and closing my eyes. When I open them again, the street is completely abandoned, no cars coming or passing by. It takes me a moment to notice the water sloshing over the wall at the edge of the road. And then another moment to look further and see the massive waves roiling from where the ships have crashed into the water.

"Oh Shiiiii-" Slamming the car into gear, I luech the vehicle forward. Pressed into my seat by with the sudden acceleration, I switch gears until the edge of my vision blurs. Finally, a turn off from the water and to an intersection, seemingly empty as well. My speed denies me any option but straight ahead and into a river-side park of some sort. I slam on the breaks in order to manage the sudden twists and turns the road takes through the greens.

Almost back at a reasonable pace, my stomach drops when someone stumbles out of the foliage and onto the street ahead of me. When I thought I'd tortured my breaks before it surely is nothing compared to now. I push against the pedals with such force that I rise from my seat, my hands grip the steering wheel but I'm unwilling to swerve on the much too slender road, petrified of the consequences. My eyes strain, my jaws clench so tightly my teeth hurt, I hear the dogs yelping as they are pressed into the front of the passenger footwell.

And still I hit the guy, a last-minute desperate swerve to the right meaning I catch him with the side of the headlight rather than full-out running him over. Even then, it's enough to knock him to the ground at least, hopefully not enough to grievously injure him.

About a yard further down, I finally come to a stop, almost ninety degrees to the road and half slipping into the shallow ditch. I take a few shaky breaths, try to calm my jittery nerves, give a little gas to have the car safely on the road again. Then I turn off the engine with a slightly trembling hand.

"You alright?" I ask distractedly, sparing the slowly emerging dogs a clance and a pat, before forcing myself to look at the man that I just ran over. Or hit. Not that it makes it any better. I get out of the car, walk slowly towards the pile of human clad in some dark clothes, making it hard to see whether he's breathing or not, bleeding or not. A dark puddle seeps from the slumped figure and for a moment, just a moment I have to stop, breath catching and heart freezing. Did I ... Did I just kill someone?

But it's not blood. At least not in full. The lump of man coughs, turns over, and suddenly I'm running, dropping to my knees at their side.

"Hey! Hey, are you alright? Where does it hurt?" My hands hover over their form, eyes scanning their appearance. Now lying on his back and breathing hard, I can see the man better. He's injured, obviously, from a lot of cuts and scrapes and the way his ribcage moves beneath the heavy leather of his shirt-vest-like thing worries me. His eyes are closed, the mouth open to draw in large breaths like a drowning man. Appropriately he's also soaking wet, but that doesn't matter. Neither does the shining metal that is his left arm, which is much harder to ignore.

Still, I tear my gaze from it and carefully reach for the man's shoulder, the normal one. "Can you hear me? Say sonething, please!" He doesn't, but his eyes snap open as soon as my hand touches him. Faster than I can react, the metal arm shoots out to crush my frist, ripping it away from his body. The other hand comes up as well, slower than the prostethic, but I can evade its grasp for my neck.

"Alright," I pant, "You're awake. That's good, that's good. Can you-" I wince, tugging lightly at my arm, "Can you please let go? We gotta get you to the hospital. And-" I swallow heavily, grimacing at the thight hold, "I- I'm really sorry I hit you. I'll pay the cost of any c-care -ah- that you need."

For a long minute he doesn't react at all, dark eyes focused on me and yet not quite there yet, as if he was sleep-walking. I forcefully still myself, remaining in the awkward position and waiting for him to react. It takes a while but then some sort of cogniscence comes back to the man, his gaze flicking down my form to survey me.

"No hospitals," he grunts and finally lets go. I snatch my hand back out of reach and take a step back, uncertainty keeping me from up and running. Rubbing my sore wrist, I frown and watch him get up in what seems to be a painful manner.

I know who he is. The arm is a dead give-away even if the face it belongs to has long since lost its familiarity. Of course he doesn't want to go to a hospital, he wants to get off the grid, vanish. He's dangerous, I know that as well. Unhinged, not mentally sound, although how bad it supposedly is escapes me. Either way, I should be running in the other direction, not just standing there. But ... I just ran this guy over. I have to help him, anything else would be cowardly and a horrible, horrible thing.

"C'mon, man, I gotta do something. I can't just leave you here. Do you ... have anywhere you can go? Someone to patch you up if you don't want to see the doctors?"

Cold eyes meet mine. "No." The response is short, curt, defensive and telling me to back off. And yet, I can't.

"Let me give you a lift, anyway. Just out of the city. C'mon, let me do something. I feel horrible."

"Not my problem."

"Yeah, well, you obviously have other problems. Just get in the freaking car and let me get you out of here. I want to be sure you don't have a concussion at least. Let me give you a lift." It comes out more forcefully than I want to and I can see the moment that suspicion settles over him. Too insistent, I can almost hear him think and I mentally curse myself.

It doesn't matter much a moment later though, because as he turns, presumably to get away fron whatever trap he believes me to have set, he wavers, stumbles when his knee gives out from under him. In a flash, I'm there, shoving myself under his arm and taking his not inconsiderable weight.

With a grunt, I steady myself, glad for all the muscle farm work built up. I make to hoist him higher, get a better grip on him, when the arm I use to hold him tightens around my throat. "Bad ... idea," I gasp, tapping the arm as if it were a practise match. Unsurprisingly he doesn't let go, cutting off my air supply and making me stumble under his bulk.

Having found his balance again, he easily takes my weight when my own knees buckle and black spots creep into my vision.

"Who do you work for?" His voice is like a growl, a low rumble of thunder, the promise of deatha nd violence.

"I don't," I push out with my last breath, "No-one."

Now all I can see is pulsating black, my heartbeat pounds painfully in between my temples and my lungs scream for air I cannot draw. I grab at his arm, trying to wrench it away, or to give me at least a little breathing room, but he is terrifyingly strong. I could hit him, could try for those obviously broken or cracked ribs, but ot wouldn't matter. Have to ... appear ... innocent ... bystander ...

With a great gasp, I suck in a deep lungful of breath. And then another and another after that. Blinking hard to regain my vision, I realise I'm on my hands and knees. When I raise my head, I can just see the man limping away. Rubbing my throat, I try to work past the pain and the persistent ringing in my ears. Then I get up, stumble a few steps before steadying myself and walking to the car. I get in, turn the key in the ignition, hesitate. He's still stumbling along. What if he's recaptured because I injured him too badly to get away in time?

To hell with it! Finally starting up the car, I turn and drive up behind him, catching up in no time.

"Get in already," I call through the open window when I stop next to him. Hastily I shoo the dogs onto the backseat, gladly noting that they seem to be fine if a little dazed still.

At first he doesn't even consider it. When a helicopter seems to be drawing closer, however, he reconsiders. And then suddenly he's there, slamming the car door shut and fixing me with that cold, hard gaze.

"Drive," he commands and I do, no questions asked. With my eyes fixed on the road, I try to ignore his looming presence, the threat of violence that sits in the tension of his shoulders. I drive, I take the less busy roads and I don't ask any questions or say much of anything. Given that we're in the middle of a rather large metropolis, it takes forever to leave its perimeter.

During the time, the guy ever so slowly relaxes, turning to survey the outside passing by closely rather than continue fixing me with that death glare. But then the tension sky-rockets again, when with a whine the blue-collared puppy wiggles over the console and onto the stranger's lap. In an instant he has the animal by it's neck, holding it at arm's length and seeming ready to toss it out of the window. I gulp, but try to keep calm.

"That's, umm..." The man's head snaps to me from the stare-down he had with the puppy. "That's just a baby dog ... No threat to you, I'm sure..." I finally manage to get out under the heavy gaze, keeping my gaze fixed on the road ahead.

There is no answer, but finally the mans let's the little blue-collared pup drop into the footwell and turns to observe the scenery again. When the little dog tries to climb into his lap again, he pushes it down without even looking. It does little to discurage the animal as it tries again and again only to be foiled every time.

In the end, the dog get's its wish though, as he tires of gently pushing it away. To be honest, he seems utterly exhausted, eyes drooping and head lolling downwards slowly only to snap up again time after time. I hold my silence, not wanting to disturb him. In the end, it might be my fault that he's in such a bad shape.

We pass the border of the city, finally turning onto the freeway, but I don't make any attempt to halt and my passenger doesn't order me to either. A sideway glance tells me that he lost his battle with exhaustion and is fast asleep, human hand resting on the equally knocked out puppy. So I keep on driving.

He wakes as I slow the car to a stop. With a snap his whole body goes rigid, eyes wide and searching, assessing the situation, scanning for a threat. I stay perfectly still, waiting for him to be finished. His eyes land on me and stay there, dark and cold, soulless until some spark ignites them again. He takes another look around, while I let out my held breath and turn off the headlights of the car.

"Where are we?" he demands.

"Home," I answer tiredly, rubbing my eyes and reaching for the door handle. At the prick of metal against my throat I hesitate, straighten up. My eyes slide over to him, down to the knife he's holding agaisnt me, up towards his face again. "Yes?" I ask, too tired to give much of a shit. It's past midnight now, almost ten hours after he hgot in the car.

"Why did you bring me here?" His tone makes it clear it isn't a request.

"You can crash in the barn if you want," I grind out, trying and failing to suppress a yawn, "There's a hayloft. No cameras for a few miles at least." I pause for a moment, thinking, "Or you could disappear in the night, whichever you want. But if you stay I can give some to eat and a first-aid kit. Don't know how to fix ... all of you, but

... y'know ..." Trailing off, I look at him through the darkness that has fallen. His eyes glint in the low light, as does his prosthesis.

The knife vanishes, then the passenger door opens and with a startled yelp the puppy goes tumbling. I can see his shape move through the darkness in front of the car, but nothing more happens. Tiredly, I get out as well, calling Lola and her pup and walking to the farm house. I don't expect to see him again, but I set the first-aid kit outside as well as a covered tray of soup and sandwiches. After some consideration, a backpack with some non-perisheables as well.

They're gone in the morning.


End file.
